When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,14
American football. More a soccer fan.”
“Olivia,” she pointedly corrected him. At the same time, she was regarding Junior curiously, which wasn’t surprising since he was three hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, and his hair grew so high above his head and so far down his back that it practically lived in another country. “Junior’s the best player to ever come out of Pago Pago.”
“American Samoa,” Junior clarified. “It’s the NFL’s favorite training ground.”
“I had no idea,” Olivia said.
Thad continued the introductions. “Ritchie Collins is at the other end of the table.” Tonight Ritchie wore a single gold hoop near his scalp tattoo. “Ritchie’s the fastest wide receiver the Stars have had since Bobby Tom Denton.”
“Ritchie’s my go-to guy,” Clint said. “Me and him are going to rule the world.”
“Not until you learn how to handle pressure in the pocket, little girl.” Thad had the satisfaction of seeing Clint wince. “The ugly dude next to him is Bigs Russo.” Bigs sometimes got offended if his ugly mug wasn’t acknowledged, and Thad didn’t see any point in taking chances.
Bigs’d had some new dental work since the last time Thad had seen him, but that hadn’t done anything to fix his squashed nose, bald head, and small eyes. “Bigs might look like a broke-down prizefighter,” Thad said, “but he’s the best defensive lineman in the League.”
The other men nodded in agreement, but Olivia seemed concerned that Thad had hurt Bigs’s feelings. “I find rugged men incredibly fascinating,” she cooed. “So much more interesting than those pretty-boy athletes who model underwear in their spare time.”
They all hooted, none louder than Bigs. Thad’s resentment eased. He had to hand it to her. The Diva wasn’t taking his crap lying down.
“So you two a thing now?” Ritchie asked.
“Oh, no,” Olivia replied emphatically. “He detests me. Not entirely without reason. He brought me here to embarrass me.”
“That’s no way to treat a lady, T-Bo,” Junior said.
“She insulted me,” Thad explained.
Olivia apparently decided to put it out in the open. “I accused him of something he didn’t do. This is his revenge.”
“I did notice you aren’t wearing shoes,” Bigs said.
“She’s a nature lover,” Thad said. “Half the time she walks around naked, but tonight she settled for bare feet.”
“Not true,” she said. “But an entertaining story.”
“Why’d you do that?” Ritchie asked her. “Accuse him?”
“I was fed some bad information.”
Ritchie nodded. “It can happen.”
“It wouldn’t have if I’d considered my source.”
Thad liked the fact that The Diva was being upfront. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.
The bartender came over to take their drink orders. Thad watched Olivia’s gaze switch from her grimy surroundings to his equally grimy apron.
“I’ll have iced tea. In a bottle.” As soon as the bartender left the table, she offered an explanation. “I’m allergic to E. coli bacteria.”
They all liked that.
“I’m guessing you gentlemen are obscenely wealthy, so . . .” She made a gesture toward the nicotine-stained walls and mostly dead Christmas tree lights draping a longhorn steer skull. “Why this place?”
“Bigs chose it.” Ritchie slid his fingers over the embroidered rose on his leather bomber.
“It’s important to keep it real,” Bigs said.
Ritchie tilted back in his chair. “This is a whole new world of real.”
The Diva didn’t seem to mind when the conversation inevitably drifted to football. For someone who made a living commanding center stage, her willingness to step back surprised him. As they tossed around their opinions of sports broadcasters, team owners, and exchanged some general trash talk, she ignored her iced tea and listened patiently.
Clint, not surprisingly, tried to get her to leave with him.
“No shoes,” she said.
“I’ll buy you a couple pairs of Blahniks on the way.”
She laughed.
Thad still didn’t get why the kid had shown up in Phoenix, but it said something bad about The Diva’s character that she seemed to like the idiot. Still, his opinion of The Diva had changed. He’d made some mistakes in his time, and despite his remarks to the contrary, she’d offered up a damned good apology.
She patted Clint on the shoulder and rose from the table. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”
* * *
Crossing her legs was no longer an option. As horrifying as the idea of using this particular bathroom was, she really, really had to go. She tiptoed across the floor to the back hallway, letting as little of her bare feet touch the floor as possible. Behind her, she heard Bigs say, “You really shoulda bought her some shoes, T-Bo.”